Ride Out the Storm Chapter II
by Tashmina
Summary: When a runaway orphan stumbles into the Devil's Hole Gang it draws the boys into a mystery they just can't ignore. This was written with a lot of help from Sarah Whyment. She may have given up writing, but she's still a font of amazing plots for mysteries. It's fair to say she co-wrote this and the plot wouldn't have happened without her. Come on, Sarah. Get writing again!
1. Chapter 1

Necks stiffened almost imperceptibly in the darkness; the dancing, flickering flames cast sinister shadows over the faces of outlaws determined not to let on they'd heard the snap of a twig on the periphery of their camp site. A pair of blue eyes met brown; the knotting of the brows a sign of affirmation that the unspoken plan had begun.

A few men strolled casually to the edges of the campsite and melted into the darkness. Kyle raised a tin mug to his lips and nervously gulped back the contents. The practiced drill dictated that those already beside the fire should stay there to draw in whoever was stalking them. It was a dangerous position in full light, but approaching lawmen had to have someone to home in on and it was the luck of the draw; they just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. All they could do was sit tight and trust their comrades to do their part. A scramble for cover would almost certainly result in chaos and crossfire; this was the safest way.

The Kid inched forward, stepping carefully to avoid the same mistake as his quarry. He had no idea how many of them there were, but the best way to find out was to crouch, listen and watch. It didn't take long before his head turned in response to another crack, followed rapidly by rustling and a yelp. The crash of a body falling into what was apparently a more than averagely brittle, yelp-provoking bush told Kid Curry all he wanted to know about the professionalism of his opponent. The lack of response to the predicament and the minutes of impotent thrashing around showed that he was either on his own, or his accomplices cared so little that it amounted to much the same thing.

He stood, but the familiar silhouette already hauling a figure from the shrubbery told him that Heyes had beaten him to it.

"He's just a boy." The sound of none-too-gentle patting indicated that the lad was being quickly searched. "He's clean. Come with me, sonny. Somebody needs to teach you not to sneak up on men in the dark. Where are your folks?" Staccato sobbing cut through the night air. "Stop crying, boy. Where are your folks?"

The Kid heard Heyes give a snort of irritation at the lack of response but hung back in the shadows, still alert for the possibility of ambush.

Kyle squinted at the boy being trotted into the halo of the campfire by the scruff of his neck. "What ya got there, Heyes?"

"Our ambush." The lad was prodded forward into the camp. Heyes turned him around to stare into the grubby face streaked with tears and mucous. He kept his voice low and controlled, but it was to remain stripped of kindness until he knew exactly what was going on. "I'm gonna ask you again. Where are your folks?"

"I haven't got any folks."

Heyes frowned. The educated, Eastern accent was incongruous against the beggarly, torn clothes three sizes too big. The sobbing started up again. He glanced over at the Kid who wandered casually back into the clearing. The nod assured him that the area had been checked and nothing had been found. Quizzical dark eyes returned to the interloper and Heyes' voice softened. "You're an orphan?"

The thin face hardened and the chin tilted defiantly up at the outlaw leader but the refusal to meet anyone's eyes told Heyes what he wanted to know about the lad's potential bravado. "So?"

"Why're you creeping around in the dark? I'm not buying you being on your own. We're twelve miles to the nearest town. Who're you with?"

The child's bottom lip started to tremble, but he bit into it and backhanded away the glittering snot and tears. "I'm on my own. I just smelled the food... I'm hungry."

"Aw, Heyes. Leave 'im alone," Kyle drawled. "He's just a hungry kid," all eyes turned to the fast-gun leaning against a tree, "and we know all about them, don't we?" Kyle raised his tin cup and threw back a slug of moonshine. "Ya want some beans, boy?"

The lad's eyes widened and darted towards Heyes before he stared hungrily at Kyle. "Beans?"

"Kyle, feed the boy," Heyes strode over to join his cousin.

"Nobody else there," murmured the Kid. "Wheat, Preacher and I searched the area. Unless they're watchin' from a distance and sent the boy in to see what he can find out."

Heyes nodded. "Well, we've just got to make sure that whatever he does find out isn't any use to anyone." He groaned softly and rubbed his face distractedly at the words drifting in the night air.

"Yup, we's the Devil's Hole Gang." Kyle pointed toward the partners with a dripping spoon. "That there's Kid Curry and the fella givin' up dirty looks, that's Hannibal Heyes hisself. We's gonna rob a bank tomorrow."

The Kid watched the lad shovel beans into his mouth as fast as his bodily functions could cope. "Yeah, good plan, Heyes. Give him over to Kyle. I can't see where that could go wrong at all. What are we gonna do now? Keep him or kill him?"

"I guess tomorrow's job is off. I can always depend on my gang, huh?"

A smirk played around the Kid's lips. "I guess that depends on what you need them to do. The boy says he's alone? All the way out here at night? We chose to camp here because there's nothing for miles."

"He's obviously travelled. There's a lot that bothers me about this. He's real well-spoken too."

The smirk spread into a fully-fledged grin. "Jealous, Heyes? You speak alright for a farm boy with his own teeth."

Kyle scrutinized the child by the light of the fire. "The boy's got cuts on his cheek, Preacher. Yah got anythin' for them?"

"You got whiskey," Preacher observed the lad through hooded eyes. "Use that."

"Ma whiskey?" Kyle's eyebrows shot skywards. "That costs two bits a jug. I ain't wastin' it."

Preacher shook his head ruefully. "Yeah, nuthin' but the best for you. The boy won't mind whiskey."

The inhaling of beans paused and the boy's big eyes blinked through the darkness. "I don't drink alcohol."

"A real good boy," snickered Wheat. "I bet he don't smoke, steal or curse either."

"No, I certainly don't."

Kyle's nose crinkled at his friend. "Leave 'im be, Wheat. He's an orphan. It's real tough for a boy to learn things without a pa. I know that for sure. I had to learn all that from my ma." His blue eyes looked wistfully into the fire. "It just ain't the same."

Heyes rolled his eyes. "Let's get over there before they start a junior branch."

Two pairs of boots crunched to a halt beside the boy.

"What's your name?" the Kid asked.

"Chauncey."

"Chancy?" the Kid repeated. "What kinda name is that?"

"Chauncey. Chauncey de Gosbeck Bosiet." Chauncey stared down at his empty plate with an air of disappointment.

"Chancy? Why'd you call a boy that?" snorted the Kid. "That ain't a name that'll be the making of an honest man."

The boy's slim eyebrows gathered into a knot. "I'm named after my grandfather. He was a politician in England."

"Yeah?" the Kid nodded. "Credit where's it due. They sure know how to call a spade a spade; Chancy the politician."

"Chancy," Heyes began.

"Chauncey..."

"Yeah, whatever," Heyes waved a dismissive hand. "What're you doing all the way out here on your own?"

"I'm going to Boston."

Heyes and Curry shared a conversation in a glance. "Boston? Do you know how far that is from here?"

"Quite far."

"Quite far? It's about two thousand miles east of here."

Chauncey's lips formed into an ineffectual 'O.' "That's quite a lot."

Heyes sat down beside the little, hunched figure and gestured towards the plate. "Ya want more? Kyle can get that for you." He handed the plate over to be refilled. "Listen. We're miles from anywhere. What're you doing out here. We need to get you to your folks."

"My father died just over a year ago. My mother died when I was born."

Heyes pondered this information. "Yeah, so who were you heading towards?"

"My mother's friend. She'd never have seen me put in a home. She'll take me in."

"A home?" Heyes flicked up an eyebrow.

"I was put in an orphanage."

The Kid folded his arms. "You live out here?"

Chauncey shook his head. "No. I was sent here. I come from Boston."

"You were sent here from Boston?" the Kid held out the new helping of food. "Why?"

"I don't know."

Heyes pondered this for a few moments. "Did any of your folks come from here?"

"No."

"Then why here?"

"This is where Uncle Julius brought me."

The Kid scowled. "You got an uncle and you ended up in a home?"

"He's not a real uncle. He was a friend of my parents."

The Kid kicked at some fallen leaves. "Yeah? Some friend. Where is this place?"

Chauncey's eyes widened. "You can't take me back. I won't go. I'll die there. It's a terrible place."

Heyes smiled softly. "I know those places aren't exactly soft, but they're not dangerous."

"I'm not telling you where it is. I won't go back." Chauncey dropped the plate and stood. "Thanks for the food, it was great." He backed off into the darkness but stopped at the heavy hand which dropped onto his bony shoulder.

"You ain't goin' anywhere, boy," the Kid murmured. "It'd be criminal to let a child wander off into the wilderness on an October night."

"You can't keep me here. I won't go back!" Chauncey started wriggling against the grasp. "I won't." The struggles became wilder until the Kid had to wrap an arm around his waist and carry the kicking child over to a tree. He pushed him to a sitting position and held him in place by both wrists. The boy's wild, frantic eyes darted around and little flecks of saliva formed at the corners of his mouth as his breath started to come in great gulps of panic.

"Hey, hey!" The Kid's voice was gentle but firm. "Nobody said we'd take you back. We just said you can't head out on your own. There are bears and mountain lions out there."

Chauncey stopped fighting but continued to hyperventilate. "You won't?"

"Look, did I say we'd send you back?" The Kid gave a nod of reassurance. "We just said we couldn't let you walk off into the night. Stay! Got that?"

The writhing stopped. "I s'pose. If you're not taking me back..."

"Stay there, ya hear me, boy?" The Kid's eyes glittered a warning through the night.

"Please, I can't go back there. Promise me."

The Kid grimaced. He didn't want to lie to the child. "I'm an outlaw, boy. If you're gonna survive in this life you'd better learn not to take folks at their word. It means squat. Some people'll tell you anything that gets them what they want; it's what they do that counts."

Chauncy nodded. "Yes, you're right." The whites of the big eyes gleamed a pathetically grateful message by the light if the fire. "I can go in the morning? I can stay the night with you, by a fire? I'd like to be warm."

"We insist on it," Heyes gestured for the Kid to join him for a conversation. "Have you had enough to eat?"

"I left the rest of my beans," Chauncy ventured, cautiously.

Heyes nodded. "Kyle! Get Chancy some more food. The Kid and I gotta talk."

"Where's the nearest orphanage?" Heyes murmured.

The Kid watched Chauncey mop the sauce up with a lump of rough bread. "The closest town or thereabouts, I guess, but he doesn't want to go back, Heyes."

"We can't bring him with us, Kid. What else do you suggest?"

"Put him on a train to Boston?"

Heyes shook his head. "If his mother's friend had wanted him he wouldn't have ended up here. Orphanages are the last resort because they cost folks money; you know that as well as I do.

"Something ain't right here. Why send a boy all that way?"

"I agree: they probably sent him here to stop him from pitching up on their doorsteps. If we send him back he'll end up sinking into a life of crime – that's if he's lucky. The big city is full of folks who'll use a boy anyway they want because it's easier to be anonymous in a crowd. He's better off out here. At least he'll have a chance of farm work in a few years."

The Kid rubbed his chin. "I guess. We've got no choice, but that was real panic in his eyes, Heyes. He was scared. We both hated Valpairso but we were never that bad. I'm not happy takin' him back there until we check things out."

"Kid, why is it you manage to find needy people everywhere. If I didn't know better I'd think there was one behind every tree,"

The Kid cast a casual hand out to the trees. "If there were any more like him out there we'd be deafened by the noise they make. He ain't equipped to deal with this. He needs help."

"If you mean he's been too sheltered, I agree. That's why it'd be cruel to send him off to Boston. At least he's only dealing with the elements here. In the big city he'd be preyed on every which way."

They watched Chauncey follow Kyle, holding out his hands to warm them at the fire before taking a slug from the tin mug and screwing his face up in disgust. "Easily led," Heyes muttered, "wouldn't last ten minutes."

"What age d'you think he is? Ten maybe?" the Kid queried, casually.

"Maybe. He's real thin. He could be younger, but being so well spoken he sounds older."

"You know what we'd have done at that age if we'd run into a gang like this?"

The dark-brown eyes dropped. "We'd be impressed. He can't be; he needs to see us as lower than the dirt under a worm's belly. He goes back tomorrow. So do we."

"The job's definitely off?"

"They'll be no job. When he goes back all folks will be able to say is that a child went missing and that a group he thinks might be The Devil's Hole Gang brought him back." Heyes sighed heavily. "We can't pull a job when we've been anywhere near a child; some might say we used him as a shield, a lookout, or even kidnapped him as a diversion. Only a fool mixes crime with children. If we're lucky they'll think he's just full of wild tales."

"Yeah, I guess." The Kid nodded heading towards the child. "I'll get out bedrolls out. He can share ours and we'll get him back at first light."

"Chancy?" The boy looked up at the smiling outlaw. "We've made you a bed. You can sleep with us near the fire. It can get cold outside, so you'd best keep your boots on. They're dry, ain't they?"

"Yes. They're too big but I stuffed them with some old newspaper," Chauncey, pulled up the leg of his pants and revealed a stick-thin, bare limb.

"No socks?" The Kid frowned. "You need to keep your feet dry and warm; it's one of the first rules for survivin' when you're livin' rough. C'mon, I'll give you a pair." He laid a hand on the boy's back to guide him but pulled it back abruptly when Chauncey stiffened and sucked in a sharp breath of pain. "What? Did that hurt?"

Chauncey's gaze dropped. "A little."

"I barely touched you, boy. Let me see."

Chauncey stepped back. "No, I'm fine."

"I'll be the judge of that," the Kid reached over and dragged up the lad's shirt tails. His face hardened before he raised his head and called to his partner. "Heyes, we got a problem."

The bleeding welts covering the child's back had been a deal breaker. Poor Chauncey suddenly found himself at the centre of the tender mercies of an angry pack of soothing hoodlums; if they didn't kill him with kindness they we very likely to stray towards dead-drunk with their standard, medicinal alcohol applied liberally; both internally and externally. Within half an hour it was fair to say that it wasn't so much a case of feeling better – he was just feeling a lot less - and couldn't care less about whatever was left swirling around the trio of kaleidoscopic campfires rotating in front of his blinking eyes.

He had talked; telling his saviours everything from the fact that he was nine, to the name of the woman in charge of his punishment for daring to ask for another blanket as autumnal chills started to seep through his only cover. The beatings and hunger were a harrowing reminder of the impotence of an inconvenient childhood; just as the scars, the protruding ribs and hunted eyes testified to the persistence of the abuse.

The Kid watched his partner stare over at the boy swaddled in blankets, lying on his side away from his injured back. His quietude spoke volumes to anyone who knew Hannibal Heyes well; it was the stillness in the eye of the storm. The dark eyes swirled with dark thoughts and memories, thrust back into a torn past.

"The Kinscumber Private Asylum, Davistown. D'ya think he'll remember tellin' us?" the Kid asked.

Heyes breathed heavily with suppressed anger. "Not as much as the folks responsible will, Kid. There's a storm headed their way. That boy has been starved and beaten like a cur. Are you with me?"

"She's a woman, Heyes. If it was a man I'd be first in line, but what can we do?"

"Do? I need to think about that one, Kid," Heyes scratched his chin pensively. "There are some things you can't stand back and ignore. Sometimes the silent majority has to speak up and I'll be damned if I'll be a bystander to this. It's autumn; that boy wouldn't survive a winter of that kind of treatment." He turned a joyless smile on his cousin, his eyes flickering with a malevolent glint. "A woman might be in charge of the day-to-day care, but a man will run the place. What d'you say, Kid? Do you think they need a visit from some more orphans? After all, they're one down at the moment. They have vacancy."

To be continued...


	2. Chapter 2

The Kinscumber Private Asylum was a grim, brick-built, Victorian edifice which stood out in the flat, bleak landscape. The redness of the hand-made bricks did nothing to warm the grim facade. It was a forbidding place, with many of the windows so high they had to be operated by long poles with hooks on the end; nobody could see out and more importantly, nobody could see in. Both men knew the implications of invisibility on the indigent and inconvenient. Powerless people were used in this life; the very bricks which constructed the place were made by unskilled, badly-paid children doing back-breaking work in the burning kilns. They were cheap, they were disposable; and their needs were more easily disregarded than their commercial value.

"What now, Heyes?"

"We find a door, Kid. I don't know about you, but I'm getting too old to be shimmying in a window seven feet off the ground; not when there's a lock to pick."

"I got too old at fifteen."

"Yeah," Heyes murmured. "It just wasn't your type of crime. You're more a stare 'em down kinda guy."

"Hey, sneaky just doesn't come as naturally to me as it does for you. I'd be stupid not to play to my strengths." The tall figure beside Heyes threw out an arm towards an area with more hospitable-looking architecture. "That looks like the administration block."

"Yeah, and the accommodation block too," Heyes arched a brow, "judging by the closed curtains on the upper floor."

"Ya think this Miss Roberts is in there? The one who does the beatin'?"

"Probably," Heyes murmured.

"What've you got planned, Heyes. I can't be a party to hurtin' a woman, not even one like her."

"I dunno yet, Kid. Something will come to me. She's killing that boy and she can't be allowed to get away with that."

"I guess..."

"Trust me. When have I ever let you down?" The silver conchos on the hatband caught the watery moonlight. "Let's see what we're dealing with first."

"It'd ruin our reputations if anything related to dealing with a woman comes out."

"Sure it would." Heyes felt the lapel of his jacket for the lock-pick he kept concealed there, "but who says we're gonna tell her who we are? We're outraged citizens as far as she'll ever know. Come on. Let's get in there."

Two figures crept down the panelled hallway and halted at the door. Heyes raised the dark light and adjusted the flap to target the beam on the gold letters ornamenting the surface. "Belinda J. Roberts, Head Keeper."

"Keeper?" hissed the Kid. "It makes the place sound like a zoo."

The only reply was the sound of a hand turning the doorknob, smoothly and quietly. The door swung open with a slight creak. "Not locked," Heyes whispered. "Probably nothing of value in here."

His partner closed the door behind him and leaned on it. "Just the records."

Heyes placed the lamp on the desk and opened the flaps so the light no longer shone out through slits. A bubble of golden light expanded to fill the room, illuminating the heavy desk, the bookshelves and the walls lined with institutional, extra-long photographs of glassy-eyed children lined up in order of height.

"Well, let's see what it says about Chancy. What was his surname again?"

The blue eyes screwed up in thought. "De... Goosey, was it? De Gusset...? Nah, I can't remember."

Long fingers riffled through the files. "Nah, nothing here; not under that name – not even close."

The Kid frowned. "Nothing under 'C' or 'D'? Are you sure?"

Heyes pulled open the third drawer of the filing cabinet. "Can you bring that lamp over here? I can't see into the bottom drawers." His finger flicked over the labelled files See for yourself, not a single child with a name even remotely like Chancy's."

The Kid perched on the edge of the desk and scratched pensively on his chin. "The boy was lying?"

Heyes paused, considering the question. "As a poker player, I'd put my whole stake on him telling the truth."

"That's good enough for me," the Kid crossed his long legs at the ankle. "Could it be anywhere else? A register?"

"Good thought." Heyes strode over to the book case and pulled out a register. "He said his pa died just over a year ago, so I guess we've gotta check this year's register and last." He slid a book over to his cousin. "Here you go. If there are any clues it'll be in one of these."

"Nothing. All the names are real ordinary and not one child came here from Boston in the last two years."

The Kid sighed heavily. "Either the boy's lying or the records are a crock of..."

"That'd be my guess too." Heyes sat back and stared off into the dark corner of the room, the designing lights in his eyes dancing with promise.

"Whatcha thinkin', Heyes?"

"I'm thinking that it's time to start asking some questions. How many staff do you think live in here?"

"Judging by Valparaiso, at least five – most of the cleanin' and cooking'll be done by the inmates. Boys'll tend the grounds too."

"That's what I thought too." A pair of intense dark eyes stared at the Kid. "There's something real off about this place. I need to ask this Miss Roberts a few questions but I can't do it in a building full of folks. Are you with me Kid?"

"Questions? Just questions?"

"Just questions. We can't send Chancy back to this, Kid. He'll be dead before the winter's out." Heyes shook his head. "Why bring a boy all the way from Boston, hide the fact and then slowly kill him with neglect? It's like he doesn't exist here, which makes me wonder why. The Patrons who run these places inspect the children; you know that as well as I do. Have they condoned this treatment or don't they know about Chancy either?"

"Yeah, the Patrons ain't generally the motherly type, but they'd never tolerate that kind of cruelty. Those wounds on his back were fresh injuries over old and an infection is startin' to set in. The Doc used to inspect us once a month." The Kid grimaced, "right before the nurse covered us in that stuff to kill nits."

A smile twitched at Heyes' lips. "Yeah, that stuff sure stank." He arched a brow. "In or out, Kid; I know how you are with women."

The blue eyes narrowed. "In. Anyone who can do this deserves a bit of a fright – and that's all we'll so, ain't it?"

"That's all we'll do, Kid." He picked up a pen and dipped it in the inkwell, quickly writing a few words before blowing the ink dry. His eyes fixed on the safe. It was a cheap, utility version which took no more than a few clicks before it popped open. "Accounts, a money box," Heyes chuckled lightly to himself. "Letters tied in pink ribbon. Looks like Miss Roberts has a past."

"You're not gonna steal from an orphanage safe, it ain't right."

The dark eyes widened. "Steal? I'm putting something in the safe, Kid." He closed the door firmly, twirling the knob to re-lock it.

"What're you up to?"

Heyes leaned forward and closed the flaps of the dark light in preparation for leaving the room. "She'll be in the best room," he cast his eyes towards the ceiling, "and judging by the big windows we saw, that'll be right above here." He picked up his hat and gestured towards the door with his head. "Well, let's go. We might be able to get some sleep before dawn."

"Go? I thought we were gonna take her."

Heyes' eyes widened in faux shock. "Take her? Do you really think I'm that crude, Kid?"

"But you said..."

"I said I couldn't question her here. I didn't say I was going to kidnap her. She's going to come to us." Heyes tutted in admonishment and shook his head ruefully. "I sometimes worry about you, I really do. You were prepared to do a thing like that?"

"But..."

"Shh! You'll have the whole place awake." Heyes pulled open the door and glanced surreptitiously into the hallway. "It's a good job I'm here to keep you on the straight and narrow."

"Sometimes speakin' to you is like tryin' to herd hornets," the Kid muttered under his breath. "I'll remember this the next time you're lookin' for support."

"Come in."

Heyes smiled at the teenage boy who was clearly acting as unpaid secretary and walked back into the room he had explored the previous evening. The room seemed larger in daylight, with two large bay windows casting a stark light over the picture covered walls. A crisp, business-like woman in her fifties sat behind the desk, her hands clasped on the blotter in front of her. "Can I help?"

He strolled casually up to the desk. "Yes. I'm looking for a boy."

The woman's brows arched wrinkling her forehead. "I see, about fourteen? Or maybe younger but good and strong; just ready for farm work?"

His gaze landed on the triangular nameplate on the front of the desk; 'B.J. Roberts Head Keeper.' Considering it was also on the door she seemed inordinately proud of her position. "B.J.?"

"Belinda Jessamine Roberts."

"Jessamine? That's unusual. I don't think I've heard that name before."

"An aunt's name. I was named for her." Miss Roberts slid open a drawer and pull out a ledger. "I think we can help you. We have about eleven or twelve boys who could be suitable for your needs." She reached out towards the brass bell beside the lamp. "I'll get them lined up for you to inspect. For a processing fee you can take one home today."

Heyes put out a hand to prevent her for ringing for the secretary. "Processing fee?"

Miss Roberts nodded her head, her bun of an indeterminate colour sitting impossibly high on the top of her coiffure. "Thirty dollars. We do have costs to cover; medical inspections, food and board, not to mention a good, solid education in the basics. It will help the other children."

Heyes' eyes narrowed. "Well as long as it's for the children. We wouldn't want it to look like you were selling them, would we?"

The thin mouthed firmed into a hard line. "No. Indeed we wouldn't. That's illegal, Mr...?"

"Yes, it is." Heyes dropped unbidden into the chair opposite her and leaned over the desk with a venal smile. "I'm not looking for just any boy, Miss Roberts. I'm looking for a particular one."

"We have all kinds here. I'm sure we can meet your requirements," a pair of cold, blue eyes drifted over the outlaw before the nose tilted up as though avoiding a bad smell, "whatever they may be."

"I'm looking for a boy from Boston."

Heyes watched the carefully arranged demeanour dissolve for the briefest of moments. Miss B.J. Roberts was tough but she was no poker player. "I have no idea why you'd think I had a boy from Boston in this establishment. It's thousands of miles from here. I can't help you."

"I think you can," a beguiling smile dimpled the cheeks. "In fact I'm sure of it."

The crêpey neck shifted under the crisp lace collar of her dress. "I think you should go."

"And I think you should produce the boy before things turn ugly," Heyes shrugged. "I'm trying to help you. I'm the nice one, but I can only protect you for so long. You should have heard what my partner wanted to do last night." He tutted quietly. "He would have taken you out of here for questioning."

Her eyes bulged from their sockets. "Last night?"

"Well, yeah. I can be civilised as long as the boy's not harmed," he shook his head, ruefully. "I won't be able to do much for you if anything's happened to him."

The stiff back betrayed a miniscule tremble, but was it anger or fear? Whatever this woman was, she was not about to buckle. "Get out."

"Where is he, Miss Roberts?"

"You're mad! Do I have to call for help?"

Heyes tilted his head. "I don't know. Will they be able to tell me where Chancy is?"

The name hit her like a virtual blow to the solar plexus. "Chancy? That's a ridiculous name!"

Heyes picked up the name plate, toying casually with the 'J.' "Yeah, there's a lot of it about." He replaced it carefully on the desk. "I may not be pronouncing it properly. My education was solid and basic; but you get the gist." He stood, bending over the desk until he was inches from her pointed nose. "You've got until this time tomorrow, Miss Roberts. We'll be staying at the hotel in town, under the name of," he stared at the name-plate, "Roberts. That should be a name you won't forget."

"We?"

"My assistants," Heyes gave her a cold smile. "Bring the boy or face the consequences."

"Get out!" She stood, staring straight into the intense, dark eyes. "I couldn't produce a boy from Boston if my life depended on it."

Heyes straightened up and nodded. "Your life. We're finally on the same page, ma'am. Bring him to the hotel or face the consequences." He lifted his hat and strolled casually over to the door. "Oh, and if you're thinking about going to the law, I already know about your grubby, little secret. I broke in last night and I've been through everything."

Miss Roberts blanched. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"No? Look in the safe. I left you a message." He arched a slim eyebrow. "I've been everywhere, ma'am. I know what you've been doing. You turn me in, and I'll turn you in."

"Get out!"

"I repeat - bring the boy or face the consequences."

Miss Roberts watched the door close behind him and rushed over to the safe. Trembling fingers turned the dial until it opened. She let out a quiet gasp as she reached in and pulled out a note. "Bring the boy," she read through baited breath, before banging the safe door closed and testing the handle.

No. The lock worked. How could he get that in there? The note was crumpled by harsh, determined fingers. Did he know it all? Where was that boy? Damn it. What was she going to do now?

A pair of questioning blue eyes fixed on his partner. "Dirty secret?"

"Everyone's got one, not everyone wears theirs as lightly as we do." Heyes sat back against the headboard of the bed examining a piece of note paper. "I'm just playing with her head."

The Kid prowled over to the window and looked at the street below. "What makes you so sure she won't call the law?"

"And say what? I enquired about a child? It's my word against hers and she's scared about what I might tell them." Heyes flicked a look over to his cousin. "She's lost a child she appears to have been hiding. Tonight we're breaking into the telegraph office. I need to see what's being said about all of this."

"Who says she's sayin' anything? An inconvenient child has disappeared. That's it."

Heyes sighed and laid the letter on his lap. "It's a guess. Look, orphanages run on money and they're hardly likely to forget to record or count one. They need money from charities and patrons, so they're far more likely to overestimate the inmates than underestimate them. A child has been transported across the county to be incarcerated in a place where they deny he's ever been. I can think of only reason why anyone would do that."

"Money?"

"Yup, it's always money. Chancy sounds like he comes from good folks, maybe he's in the way of somebody else inheriting."

A frown gathered around the Kid's brows. "Why not just kill him? Surely this is a real risky way to do it? He got out."

Heyes shrugged. "Not everyone has the stomach to kill, especially a child, and not many will listen to a ragged boy," he shook his head, ruefully. "It's a sad day when a boy is safer with a gang of criminals than with the authorities or his own kin."

The Kid flopped onto the bed. "I don't get why you went in hard. You could have offered money for him to see what she said."

"She could take the high road and claim she was honest. That gives the option to do nothing." A pair of dark eyes glistened intently. "We know she hasn't got the boy but if she truly believes she's in danger, we'll force her to do something."

"Why would she come here? That'd be admitting she was involved."

"I've worried and intrigued her," Heyes shuffled his papers to the next page. "She won't come yet, but I have a few more things up my sleeve before I'm done." He gave an enigmatic smile. "Miss Roberts has a married lover in San Francisco. He's a patron of the charity who run this place and got her the job. She used to be a housemaid."

"How in the name of all that's holy do you know that? Have you started usin' a crystal ball?"

"It's in the letters I found in the safe." Heyes placed them on the bed with a flourish. "And very educational they are too. She's had a hard life; brought up in an orphanage until she was put into service at fourteen."

"Not comfortable, but hardly harsh." The Kid folded his arms. "Lots of girls end up workin' from that age."

The dark eyes glimmered with mischief. "She didn't last there... the letters don't say exactly why, but I'm guessing she left under a cloud because she went from there to being a hostess in a saloon."

A smile twitched at the Kid's lips. "So how'd she get from there to runnin' an orphanage?"

Long fingers riffled through the stack of correspondence. "A certain Mr. Charles Drummond seems to have taken her under his wing. He's also on the Board of Patrons for the Kinscumber Private Asylum. She'd currently dreaming of his next visit."

"Under his wing?" the Kid chuckled. "That's a new term for it."

"I'm always up for giving someone a fresh start, but not off the backs of children." Heyes pulled out his pocket watch. "Come on. Let's get down to the telegraph office."

"We ain't breakin' in? It's broad daylight, Heyes."

"No, but I need to send a telegram to Silky to see what he can find out about Charles Drummond for us. They live in the same town, so he should be able to help." The black hat was placed at just the right angle and the cheeks dimpled with mischief. "It'll give me a chance to check the place out for tonight too."

"Mr. Kyle? How long do we have to wait here?"

The lopsided, toothy grin split the uneven features. "'Till Heyes and the Kid get back, Chancy. They told us ta take good care of ya."

Chauncey gulped, heavily and stared down at the tied down gun. "Good care?"

Wheat and Kyle exchanged a smile at the concern in the boy's eyes. "Relax. Ain't nobody gonna hurt ya." The wide eyes transmitted solid disbelief. "Hey, we might be rough and ready, but we've all been boys too." Kyle sat on the fallen tree beside the child. "Why was this woman so hard on ya? What did ya get up to?"

"Nothing. She just hates me."

"Why?"

Chauncey's bottom lip protruded. "She detested me on sight. It's like she came out in hives the first time we met. I tried to be a good boy, when that failed I tried to hide, but nothing I did was ever good enough."

Kyle frowned. "Well everyone here knows about not bein' good enough, but a lad who speaks as well as you do should never feel that way." The stained teeth put in another appearance. "You sound sweet enough to flim flam a duchess."

Chauncey's slim brows met in confusion. "Flim flam?"

"How can I explain it to ya? Ya know when you want something for nuthin', but don't want to have ta work for it? It's kinda like that. Ya just talk your way into gettin' them to give you all kinda stuff, but mostly money."

"Like a lawyer?"

Wheat gave a triumphant laugh. "Yeah, just like a lawyer."

Chauncey sat processing this information. "Why don't you do that instead of robbing banks and trains?"

"Well, Chancy, it's like this. God never gave me the gift o' the gab like you. I was brung up by my ma, thirteen of us, dirt poor and doin' whatever we could to get by. Then I started to go to town and look into Miss Bobbie's cat house from the tree outside her window. I saw all kindsa stuff there; drinkin', smokin', gamblin'; twisted, godless stuff," Kyle gazed off, wistfully, "and I wanted some o' that for myself." But it cost good money. Good times, real good times. Bein' corrupt ain't half as much fun as bein' corrupted." He sighed heavily. "Now, God gives us all a road to travel down," he thrust a stubby thumb towards his chest. "He gave me a dirt track, so there ain't no point in tryin' to cross over to the nice, clean sidewalk because I ain't welcome there with my muddy footprints. Ain't nobody gonna give me money for sweet talking, so I gotta go out there and get it any way I can."

Lines furrowed over the boy's forehead. "You could work for it."

The outlaw chuckled and patted the child's knee. "Nah, I've seen folks work all their lives to have a peaceful old age where they can just sit and contemplate the world and everythin' they learned. I'm just cutting out the middle bit. I'm one of life's thinkers – it just ain't fair to put a mind like mine to work on the railroad or behind a plough. T'ain't right and I ain't built for it. Some of us are put here to make other folks feel superior. That's my job in this life and I'm real good at it."

Chauncey shrugged, staring doubtfully at the self-professed sage. "I've never met anyone like you."

Wheat propped his hand on his hips. "If you don't start makin' more sense, Kyle, they'll send squirrels in to find the nuts." His head snapped up listening to slight echoes and howls. "What was that?"

The distant, baying rouwlfs of animals drifted in, echoing around the outlaws.

"Bloodhounds," Preacher's sharp nose rose into the wind. "They're searchin' for someone."

All eyes fixed on the child. "It's him," Hank muttered. "Nobody knows we're here. It's gotta be the boy."

"I ain't getting turned in for no boy," a voice growled from the group.

"What're we gonna do?"

Wheat glowered at the men as Chauncey burst into tears. "Do? We're takin' him outta here. We ain't handin' that child over to be beaten and starved. Sometimes you've just gotta do what's right to make things better for somebody." Wheat glowered at the outlaws, "If'n it was his kin it'd be none of our business, but this place sets itself up as better'n the likes of us. Are any of you gonna pass up the chance to help a child – especially when we get to rub dirt in the noses of the kind of folks who've spent their lives lookin' down them at us?"

All eyes darted around, examining their colleagues as well as the now crying boy. Two things were clear: Chauncey was starting to spiral into a blind panic at the prospect of being returned to the home and Wheat knew his audience. The Devil's Hole Gang had no time for do-gooders, especially when they failed to do good.

There was a universal grumbling and mumbling until Hank nodded. "Yeah, alright. We'll take the boy outta here."

"No." Wheat shook his head. "I look after him. I'm Heyes' deputy and he's my responsibility."

"Yeah, and Heyes told you to make sure he was safe," Preacher smirked.

"That ain't got nuthin' to do with it," growled Wheat. "I can make decisions for myself."

"Go on then," Preacher glanced over to where the hullabaloo of the search increased. "Decide."

Wheat nodded, staring around at the topography. "Pack up, real fast. Kyle and me'll take the boy up the river bed to throw them off the scent. Let them follow you and make sure you let them find you. You're just drifters lookin' for casual work if'n anyone asks."

"And where'll you be headed?"

"Dunno, somewhere there ain't no bloodhounds," Wheat emptied the coffee pot over the campfire. "Get movin'!"

Kyle sighed staring over at the sobbing child. "That just ain't right. A boy his age shouldn't be that scared of folks."

"We'll help him. I guess we can shake them off," Preacher threw his saddle onto his horse. "What with my cunnin'..."

Wheat nodded. "And I'm real good at plannin'..."

Kyle nodded furiously, caught up in the care for their fellow man now the Devil's Hole Gang had realised it didn't actually cost them anything. "And I'm here too!"

Heyes had spent hours poring over the Morse code guide and then referring back to the purloined message register. Thankfully, the names of the senders and recipients were written longhand, so he quickly managed to pull out the messages he need to transcribe. On the morning of the twelfth, Miss Roberts had sent a telegram to Mr. Charles Drummond in San Francisco; after much thumbing of pages the following message appeared: "C gone. Run off. B.J.R."

The twelfth. That meant that the boy had run away during the night and had been living rough for twenty four hours by the time he had stumbled onto the Devil's Hole Gang. No wonder the boy had been so hungry. Drummond had then replied: "Find him or fired. C.D."

It would appear that Mr. Drummond knew about the boy and had a vested interest in his return to the orphanage. He was not likely to be happy with the reply. "Still no sign. B.J.R."

That had prompted the threatening missive: "Find boy or face consequences. C.D."

Heyes face dimpled into a smile at the next message to Mr. Drummond from his mistress. "Men came looking for C. Come quick. B.J.R."

The message clearly confused the recipient. "Why come? Men supposed to be looking. C.D."

Miss Roberts then started to show signs of the strain at being between a rock and a hard place: "Not our men. Strangers looking for C. Come quick. This your mess. B.J.R."

There was no reply from Mr. Drummond, stimulating the increasingly distressed woman to send another missive: "Dogs searching. Found track. Come or I see lawyer. B.J.R."

Heyes sat back with a satisfied sigh. His visit had certainly put the cat amongst the pigeons and Miss Roberts was about to spill whatever beans she had been concealing for so long. A little more pressure was likely to tip her over the edge.

The sound of a key on the door made Heyes grab for his gun but it was only the Kid who nodded a greeting.

Heyes flicked up an eyebrow in query. "Did you get it?"

"Yup," the Kid nodded. "Silky delivered." He bowed his head and read from the note in his hand. "C.D. rich lawyer. Moved with wife and ward; Chauncey De Gosbeck Bosiet last year. Boy in S.F. S." Confused blue eyes fixed on his cousin. "Chancy is in San Francisco? So who was the boy we met in the woods?"

The outlaw leader rubbed his chin pensively. "The real one, I'd say. The question is; who's the boy in San Francisco and how much is it worth to this Charles Drummond to put a fake in his place?"

"A year ago?" Lines furrowed the Kid's brow. "That's about the time Chancy said he was put in the Orphanage. He must have inherited and Drummond's kept the lot. That's about the dirtiest trick I ever heard of! That place is killin' him by inches."

"Yup, you've gotta be pretty low to make the Devil's Hold Gang look noble." Heyes stood. "We should eat. Once it's dark I want to pay another visit to the Kinscumber Private Asylum. Miss B.J. Roberts has a lot of explaining to do.


End file.
